who cannot prove their words. "Yet He is the Lord," she had added with simple trust.
Signing to Nicodemus to follow, Caiaphas had turned to go.
"Thou blasphemest without knowing it. God forgive thee," he had said. And, with uplifted head and pompous step, he had left the house, stopping at the threshold to shake the dust from off his feet.
One gleam of satisfaction alone had relieved the gloom of his nocturnal visit. If he had missed the Christ, he had satisfied himself that Lazarus was really dead. No trickery could bring him back to life. The sunken eyes and protruding brow, the white fingers, the cold, cold feet; all had been taken in by Caiaphas's eagle glance. If he had betrayed himself to Nicodemus, it mattered little, for no man henceforth would follow the Christ. All Judæa had expected the resurrection of Lazarus. All Judæa had been disappointed, and a disappointed people would be facile to gather back into the fold of the great High Priest. The triumph was to be short-lived, though he knew it not—but it was a triumph, nevertheless. The absence of the Nazarene, the two poor women alone and sorrowing, Lazarus, the friend of the Galilean, dead like any ordinary Jew dog, as Caiaphas expressed it,—all these failures lent themselves to the accomplishment of the High Priest's prophecy that Jesus would die that year. With spies and soldiers everywhere, Caiaphas expected soon to learn where Jesus was, and what kept Him away from the house of Martha.
" 'T is fear, fear lest amongst the multitudes, or
